


TES One-shots

by ongoingaccident



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls Online, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: :thinking:, DB: Eira, F/F, F/M, Gen, HoK: Adelaide Darrell, OC: Altaire, OC: Aralyn, OC: Cat Tharn, OC: Elanoviel, OC: Larandel, OC: Zanthe, Short drabble is short, Vestige: Aellai Darrell, Wow, and murder mention, and needs a lot of help but here she is anyway, and very drunk characters, at least going to title it as a collection, but anyhow here's this, but there's blood mention, dorks being dorks, ela's got a lot going on in her head, end of the oblivion mq and all the spoilers that implies, i don't know how to write actually, i don't know if this one counts as wholesome though tbh, i don't like meridia much sorry, i love writing wholesome family relationships, i managed to make a worse family dynamic, i'm sorry my tags are a mess, in the meantime have some more exasperated lucien, maybe that'll be the kick in the ass i need, my hubris knows no bounds, no i don't edit my work, not super graphic descrips of violence, now with more prison breakouts!, potentially will expand this into an actual writing collection, semi-spoilers for the middle of the oblivion db questline, she's an absolute disaster child, tags will be updated with subsequent chapters, that explains a lot probably, the world is crashing down around you please focus, to actually write, twice in a row because i got on a kick, will expand this probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ongoingaccident/pseuds/ongoingaccident
Summary: A collection of shorts from various games and featuring various characters. Will be updated as sporadically as everything else I write, so I apologize in advance!





	1. At the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> i love martin septim to bits okay? okay 
> 
> also yes i am working on ewew (wow that's a really bad acronym huh) for anyone that reads that and i will post a new chapter eventually, i promise!!!

"Remember when we first met at Kvatch?" Martin asked, and she nodded with a wistful half-smile. That had been a simpler time, when there was simply good and evil. Maybe standing inside the almost certainly soon-to-be ruined Temple of the One while Mehrunes Dagon rampaged around just outside was not the best place to have a reminiscent discussion, but she trusted Martin, and so she offered no protest. 

"I told you I wanted no part of a divine plan. I still don't know if there is one. But I've realized that it doesn't matter. What matters is that we act. That we do what's right when confronted with evil. That's what you did at Kvatch. It wasn't the gods that saved us, it was you. Maybe you were acting for the gods, I don't know. But now it's my turn to act." He smiled at her, that blindingly bright smile that made her smile gently back, even as a sense of finality and a bit of dread settled over her shoulders. "Thank you, Adelaide." 

If she knew Martin well enough, and she should certainly hope that she did, then there was some sort of secret plan he had worked out that she certainly wasn't going to like. And by the aura of calm acceptance that had settled over him - her love, her best friend - it seemed as if it would be some sort of desperate heroic sacrifice. For one stupid, selfish moment, she thought that she should grab him and run, but there will be nothing to run to if they cannot fix this. 

He turned to walk away, to head toward the Dragonfires, and she knew she ought to let him go, but she couldn't be bothered to care about 'shoulds’ and 'oughts’ when Martin was about to do something incredibly, irrevocably stupid, so she grabbed his sleeve. 

"Be safe, Martin," she said, and before she could curb her utterly idiotic impulsiveness, she kissed him, surprising them both. It was brief and intense and he kissed her right back, something that she would later chalk up to adrenaline - no one as wonderful and kind and good as he was would ever be fool enough to care for her. 

He gave her the most heart-breaking smile she had ever seen and walked away, and a moment later her world burst into blinding light.


	2. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing says fun like waking up in the middle of the night right after you murdered both of your parents to a strange presence.
> 
> Mentions of murder and gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love the oblivion dark brotherhood a lot <3 hope you enjoy!
> 
> also deep deep apologies for not having posted anything recently, i've been major struggling with writer's block but i'm hoping sometime soon some inspiration will strike and writing this helped so hopefully soon!

She woke suddenly and sat ramrod straight, the shadow of something she couldn’t quite remember lurking at the edge of her mind. The cave (her cave now, she supposed) was pitch black, but her eyes were used to that and adjusted quickly. The sticky feeling covering most of her, however, - including, it seemed, her hair, which was awkwardly stiff in places - was new. 

Aralyn looked down at the cold, stiff things next to her and remembered. She was covered in her parents’ blood. 

But even that, as uncomfortable as sleeping next to two corpses while their blood dried on her was, wasn’t what had woken her. No, she thought as her eyes narrowed, what had woken her was the person creeping toward her that thought themselves unnoticed. Aralyn moved at the same time the hooded figure did, the scalpel that she’d used a few hours ago forgotten in favor of her bare hands. 

They collided harshly, all bony elbows and jagged angles, and if she was a more empathetic person she might have wondered if the primal fear she felt now resembled what her parents experienced as she covered their mouths and slit their throats while they slept. Instead, Aralyn thought about nothing other than killing this intruder before she could be killed. 

He had entangled her hands in his, so she tried to use her teeth to rip out his throat. He pulled his head to the side at the last second, and she bit into his shoulder instead. The slightly metallic taste of blood seeped into her mouth as the stranger cursed and pushed against her with renewed vigor, and Aralyn found herself increasingly concerned about the fact that he seemed to be both stronger and a better fighter than she was. 

This wasn’t like her murders earlier, where she’d relied on some degree of trust and the cover of night to make her kills. This was a full-fledged fight where she faced every disadvantage, and the fact that she found herself pinned, arms to the ground and mouth covered, a moment later, presumably to have her own throat slit, truly drove that home.

There was probably some degree of poetry in the fact that the daughter who had just killed her parents was about to be killed herself. 

Instead, the strange man met her gaze with the darkest set of eyes she’d ever seen in a person and spoke, slowly and clearly like he would have a particularly stupid child. “I am not here to hurt you, but I will gladly kill you if you don’t stop struggling.” Aralyn had been in the process of trying to weasel out from where he had her pinned at the elbow and maybe biting his hand while she was at it, but he punctuated his statement by adjusting his grip and further securing his hold on her. 

Her eyes narrowed, but she stopped fidgeting. Her mysterious hooded stranger raised an eyebrow before sighing somewhat dramatically. “I’ll take that as assent, dark child.” 

...What an odd thing to call someone. It wasn’t too different from the kinds of endearments that her parents had enjoyed, but the screams and fear in the eyes of their victims had always told her that her parents weren’t exactly “normal”. That said, the odds were that no one breaking into the cave of a pair of necromancers and creeping up on their murderous daughter in the middle of the night was “normal”, either. Of course, all her standards of said normality were based on books and letters she or her sister had managed to filch from their parents or the strangled last words of dying men and mer, so who could say if they were accurate? 

But her idle thoughts didn’t matter here. What mattered was the solid weight of the person above her, and the knowledge that she was completely at his mercy if he chose to strike. So Aralyn listened - not that she was in a position to do much else. “This is far from an ideal situation for introductions, but they must be made nonetheless. I am Lucien Lachance, and I speak now for the Night Mother, to tell you that she is pleased. She has observed how you kill, admired your ruthlessness, and is most delighted, thus I am now before you.” A rather gentle way of saying “literally on top of you”, but the man seemed fond of his pretty words. “I have been sent to offer you an opportunity to join our… unique family.”

Her brow furrowed briefly with confusion as she tried to recall if she had ever heard of this “Night Mother” before. But Lucien must have recognized the blank look in her eyes because he chuckled. The sound sent a shiver down her spine. “Never heard of the Dark Brotherhood before, child? No matter. All you must know is this: on the Green Road north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen. There you will find a man named Rufio. He is no challenge - old and frail, he spends his days sleeping. Kill him.”

Well, that got her attention. Interesting. She was no stranger to death, of course, but to have it requested of her? Maybe the world outside would be intriguing, after all. 

“If you do this, the next time you rest, I will return to you and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete. I’ve even brought you a tool to complete the task.” Before Aralyn could comprehend what was going on, a blade was pressed underneath her chin, tilting her head back uncomfortably. “Much better than that rusted scalpel, isn’t it?” He smiled, and again she felt that instinctive shiver of fear at the base of her spine. “I hope to see you again soon, child,” Lucien said, and then he was gone. 

Aralyn picked up the dagger that he had dropped and examined it carefully. It _was_ a nice blade… and she _did_ need somewhere to go… so, with her mind made up, she began to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first things first she's off to find what a "bravil" is  
also how to read a map  
she needs a lot of help okay
> 
> anyway thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed!!! as always, feel free to hit me up here or on timbr under the same username to chat! i'm friendly, i swear orz


	3. The Making of a Vestige

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abnur Tharn's daughter is supposed to leave Cyrodiil in light of the coming war. Things do not go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i am The Worst at updating things and have been struggling a bunch with motivation (hence the brevity of this chapter, whoops) but here's a brief intro to my new vestige, created for the sole purpose of Memes(TM). one of my friends noted that it's extremely uncommon for dunmer to have names beginning with C, to which i said, "i'm going to make a dunmer and give her my nickname for a name!" and lo and behold, one crime against god later, Cat was created and determined to be a Tharn child. because i never stop to think if i /should/ do something. thanks for all your patience with everything, i'm slowly starting to get back into the writing groove, so here's this bs for now and i hope you enjoy the chapter!

“And always make sure that you’re only casting spells you’re ready for,” she finished for her father, rolling her eyes. “I get it.”

Abnur Tharn raised a disapproving eyebrow at his daughter. “I still don’t know how I ended up with such an insolent child.”

Cat grinned. “I learned from the best.” He sighed then, and she knew it was half with pride and half with exasperation. He’d been a much more… present parent for her than for a lot of his other children, though she still wasn’t certain if it was due to guilt over her mother’s murder (or her sudden, incurable illness, depending on which Tharn cousin you asked, not that anything had been proven either way) or the fact that he found her more tolerable and magically inclined than the rest of them. 

Judging by the pinch of his brow as he stared at her, probably the former. “It’s probably for the best that you’re rarely invited to public functions.” A dig at her utter ineligibility for Imperial high society, being both a bastard - claimed by her father or not - and a Dunmer, and one intended to sting (it did). Maybe the reason he bothered with her was for the sheer scandal of it all. It certainly seemed more likely than guilt or obligation. 

But she’d gotten very good at sniping back instead of rising to his taunts, even the ones that hurt. “But you won’t have to worry about that anymore, and even less so if you all die terribly in the coming war,” she said glibly. Was it messed up that they hid their affection for one another in insults? Quite possibly. Cat idly fingered the straps of her bag instead of following that trail of thought any further.   
Tharn’s face pinched in a way she knew meant he was displeased, and the lighthearted mood was gone. He was more worried than he let on, then. Not a good sign. “You’ll go far,” he commanded, and then she knew how absolutely uncertain he was about the future of the Empire. Not good. 

“The family really is going to think you’ve lost it, sending away the bastard for safekeeping,” Cat jabbed, but there was no malice in her words. There was an awkward pause before she spoke again. “Be safe, father.” 

He sighed like the world was resting on his shoulders. “Be safe, Cat.” Gods above, she was probably fucked if he was calling her by her nickname. But instead of worrying, she adjusted her pack on her shoulder and left. 

In the end, she couldn’t bear to leave Cyrodiil, and it was her downfall. 

How many times had she told him that Mannimarco was a creep and not to be trusted? How many times? But her father had always answered with excuses, like “I know him far better than you”, and “Don’t be absurd, Catalina”. 

Now look who was laughing. Just Mannimarco, probably. It would be hard for her father to laugh with Cyrodiil in ruins like this, and she had to admit to feeling similarly. 

Her general feeling of dread and discomfort came to a head when she had finally decided that there was nothing salvageable of Cyrodiil and was attempting to flee to Morrowind instead of hiding out in Cheydinhal (against her father’s most express wishes, she might add - though that might well have just been his disdain for northern Cyrodiil speaking). 

Most of her half-siblings would have died laughing if they knew how she’d walked face-first into a trap - and, damn them, she hoped they did. But Cat had never been able to turn away someone who needed help (one of her _many_ fatal flaws, if you were to ask her father), and when a kindly-seeming Breton woman accosted her at the ends of town she hadn’t been able to say no. 

She really should have said no. And probably punched her while she was at it. 

Instead, she walked straight into a group of Worm Cultists, completely unprepared, and was very promptly knocked on her ass. They unceremoniously tied her up, and then gagged her following a particularly long and nasty stream of obscenities. 

And thus Cat found herself being lined up for her execution. Her bonds had been tied excellently, and no amount of covert struggling had been able to free her from them. (The overt struggling had been noticed by her captors, and resulted in them retying the ropes and then adding a second set for good measure.) So she plodded to her death with grim determination, unwilling to show them anything other than the traditional Tharn sneer. 

She nearly broke into a snarl instead when she saw Mannimarco ahead of her, raising a dagger and plunging it into the chest of a man who had been unfortunate enough to cross paths with the Worm Cult. He, however, looked disturbingly pleased when he noticed her next in line to be sacrificed. “Little Catalina Tharn,” he drawled as his cronies dragged her onto the stone slab in front of him. “Abnur Tharn’s infamous bastard daughter. I’m almost tempted to keep you to make sure your father stays in line.” Cat was certain that her eyes nearly popped out of her head at those words (what on Nirn was her father doing hanging around this prig?), but Mannimarco’s were like ice. “...But you’re already here, and I think it would be much more fun to show him your corpse, don’t you?”

There was no time for her to react before his dagger had plunged straight into her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed and thank you so much for reading! as always, feel free to poke me if you'd like! :>


	4. Escaping Coldharbour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking out of prison is more fun with friends!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I should finish the stories I started.  
Also me: lmao just write more of this monstrosity you've started  
so i did that instead  
enjoy! :D

By the time the riots started, Cat had no idea how long she’d been trapped and tortured in Coldharbour. She’d stopped counting after six weeks, when her exhaustion began to outweigh everything else and she realized there was no way to tell if time here obeyed the same rules as it did on Mundus. Who knew when it would be if she ever escaped? Maybe days would have passed. Maybe years, or millennia. So she’d abandoned her tally on the wall along with her hope. 

Eventually, her humanity would slip away like it had for many of the other soul shriven, and that would be the end of this nonsense. 

One of her captors (the one she’d privately nicknamed Stercore, her Tharn humor seemingly the only thing about her that was intact) had just shoved her back in her cell for the evening (or was it? Difficult to tell without any changing light) when the screaming began. Cat dragged herself over to the bars of her cell to watch what was going on, and was amazed at what she saw. The not yet entirely feral sacrifices were fighting their jailers with whatever they could get their hands on. 

It would be a stretch to say they were winning, but they were trying and at least managing to be halfway competitive. And her amazement only grew when none other than Lyris Titanborn, one of her father’s many reluctant allies (she didn’t think the man had any eager ones), opened the door to her cell and extended a hand to her. 

“We’re getting out of here. You coming?” Cat was relieved when the other woman didn’t recognize her, but then they’d only ever seen one another from a distance and she probably didn’t look her best right now. If what Mannimarco had said those many moons ago about her father working for him had any truth, it was probably for the best that her identity remained under wraps, anyway. (There had to be some sort of misunderstanding there, but damned if she’d figured it out.) 

“Thank you,” she finally managed, and gratefully accepted Lyris’ help to exit her cell. 

Lyris gave her a once-over as she helped her make it up the stairs and frowned at whatever she saw (not much, probably - her ribs had been protruding for weeks). “You look like you could use some help getting out of here,” she said finally. It was hard to argue. “Why don’t you tag along with me?” 

Her Tharn pride prickled at that - her father would be appalled to find Lyris Titanborn, of all people, helping her - but necessity beat it out. “Thank you,” she said again instead. 

Lyris half-carried her through the twists and turns of the prison, and Cat was amazed to see how many of the guards had been killed. But just as the thought crossed her mind, the warden appeared in front of them, laughing as he impaled another prisoner before tossing the corpse aside. “I’ll take care of this. Stay put,” Lyris ordered, and again Cat felt her pride flare before reason won it over. She hated owing debts. 

Steel rang against steel over and over again as she stewed in her ugly mix of self-loathing and self-righteousness before her gaze wandered from the battle to the weapons sitting on the forge table. Her magic itched when she noticed the staff lying there, and she silently rejoiced at the complacency of Molag Bal’s jailors and their arrogance in believing that no one would ever fight back. She snuck over while the warden was too engaged with Lyris to pay her attention, and her blood sang when she finally laid her hands on it. 

The inferno staff she found herself in possession of was poorly made and would probably splinter in her hands if she were to put any serious magic into it, but it worked well enough to catch the warden on fire. He screamed as Lyris used her axe to take his head off and end his misery. 

Cat had no words to convey the cathartic sensation she felt watching the dremora die. (She shouldn’t. She was supposed to be above such petty things - but damned if it wasn’t satisfying.) Lyris looked her over again, with more approval and less pity this time. “You’re not half bad,” she said finally. “Especially for someone half-dead.”

She laughed for the first time in what felt like years. It sounded awkward and unused and hurt a little, but it made her heart soar. “I’m a little more than _half_-dead, I think.” She left out the rest of what she was thinking - firing a staff took the most minimal amount of magical power possible, and praising it was the equivalent of branding that you know nothing about magic on your forehead, or were condescending to the highest degree. But it was foolish to insult your only chance of escaping alive and she wouldn’t be able to do anything more with magic if she tried, so Cat kept her mouth shut instead. __

_ _Their conversation was cut short by the apparition of an old, seemingly blind man, who was hunched over a cane and beckoning her toward him. “The Prophet!” Lyris gasped, and there was no time to demand an explanation from her before the so-called Prophet began to speak. _ _

_ _“Greetings, Vestige,” he said to her, milky white eyes boring into her in a way that could only be described as unsettling. His voice seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place where she recognized it from. _ _

_ _“Vestige?” she tried to ask, but he ignored her. _ _

_ _“Like you, I am a prisoner in this place,” he continued, and Cat scowled. “You must rescue me. And I, in turn, shall rescue you.” He was gone before she could demand any sort of explanation for his cryptic words. Gods, she hated people who thought they were so smart for speaking in riddles like that. The tip of her staff flared with her anger, and she jumped in surprise as she tried to calm herself down. (How embarrassing. She hadn’t made an error like that in years. Her father would probably have disowned her for it if he’d seen. Not that she was in the will to begin with, but he might well have disowned her a second time out of sheer disappointment.) _ _

_ _Lyris sighed at the mixture of confusion and frustration that must have been plain upon her face. “We should probably talk.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Stercore is a Latin term for shit. Yes, I know I have committed deep crimes with this AU. Yes, I'll probably continue to write it anyway. Yes, I'd love to hear from you if you have thoughts or want to chat :> And yes, I'm very grateful you read this!
> 
> what do you mean, put a real ending on this? orz


	5. Things You Said When You Were Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aralyn is no longer allowed to consume alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Things you said when you were drunk" from my wonderful friend Searofyr (who is also a fantastic writer and wonderful person and whose writing you should absolutely go read <3)! Hope you enjoy!!!  
Also: Aralyn's drunk antics are based on one of my best friends who acts similarly. I don't think you're reading this, but if you are: you can't eat the bleach, even if it does taste like blueberries. Love youuuuu <3 <3 <3

He was never letting her get her hands on a bottle of wine again. “How much have you had?” Lucien asked, exasperated, as he tried to pry her fingers from the neck of the vintage she was clutching like a lifeline. After a few moments of struggling with him, Aralyn released it, and to his horror, he discovered that it was empty and she’d pulled a full one from somewhere in her robes. 

She sidled out of his reach as she pried the cork out with her teeth and spit it on the ground unceremoniously (it rolled out of sight, and he tried not to be bothered by it) before taking a long swig. She squinted at him suspiciously, like she couldn’t quite remember when he’d gotten there or if he was the one who had spoken to her, and then shrugged. “Dunno.” 

Lucien glanced at the empty wine bottle in his hand. At least a full bottle, then, and probably more than that. Damn, she was a handful sometimes. Aralyn continued to wander around his room, oblivious to his attempts to snatch her drink away and get her to sit down. (She wasn’t faster than him sober - so how on earth was she managing to evade him like this?)

Thankfully, her attention span seemed limited, and he only had to chase her around the room once before she stopped and glanced at him, pouting. “Lucien,” she whined, tugging on his sleeve with her free hand. He took advantage of her distraction to take her bottle before she could dump it all over his clean floor. She blinked in surprise when she noticed that it was gone, but quickly went back to trying to get his attention. “I wanna kill someone,” she said, eyes round and earnest. 

Lucien couldn’t help it - he laughed at the absurdity of the situation. And then cursed when Aralyn kicked him in the shin. She stalked across the room before sitting cross-legged in a corner, folding her arms across her chest, and refusing to look at him. By Sithis, she acted like a small child when she was drunk. 

Not that that meant he was planning on coddling her - quite the opposite, in fact. He stowed her bottle of wine on a shelf out of her reach (quite a feat, given her height) and then fruitlessly searched for the cork she had dropped earlier. By the time he looked back over at her, Aralyn was alternating between pretending to still be angry with him and stealing glances when she thought he wasn’t looking. 

He sighed indulgently before walking over and patting her on the head. “Come now, I think it’s high time for you to sleep.” It had been a long day for her, he knew, and in more ways than one. It was nearly the only reason he hadn’t thrown her out on her ass the moment she’d drunkenly climbed into his fort. There wasn’t much space left in his heart for sympathy, but her recent trials had earned what remained of it. 

She didn’t move. “Lucien?” she asked instead. She didn’t look at him, but her voice was barely audible and if he didn’t know better he might have thought she was about to cry. (She didn’t.) 

“Yes?” Compassion was difficult for him, but he was as fond of her as he’d ever really been of anyone, so he made an effort. 

“I miss Ela.” Her voice cracked harshly, and he sighed again. 

“You are much too drunk for this conversation. Come, sleep. You’ll feel terrible come the morning, but after that clears you will feel much better.” 

Aralyn’s dark mood disappeared almost instantly with his request. Instead, she scrunched up her nose disdainfully. “It’s not bedtime yet, though.” 

She was going to end up taking a few years off of his life. “Yes, it is. Besides, you’re covered in blood, and I’m not washing you, and Night Mother only knows you’re in no state to do so yourself right now, so the sooner you rest, the sooner you get to bathe.” 

Her eyes sparkled at that, and he smiled fondly. She had always had a weakness for luxuries such as warm baths, but he didn’t feel guilty for preying upon it. Tomorrow was going to contain some difficult conversations, so it would be better if she went to sleep in a good mood. The less upset Aralyn was when she woke up, the easier this would be for both of them. 

Lucien had to half-carry her to the extra cot in the corner of the room, but she curled up quickly once she lied down, even if she did refuse to let go of his hand. 

After several failed attempts to gently free his hand, he resigned himself to his fate and sat next to her on the small bed. At least he could look forward to reminding her of all the things she said while drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! <s>i'm not super happy with the ending but it is what it is i guess</s>  
i am also currently open for prompts, so feel free to drop one in the comments or pm me! <3  
also yes, this does take place immediately after the purification :>


	6. The Waver in a Person's Voice When They're Stressed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes waiting is the hardest part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "the waver in a person's voice when they're stressed" from the wonderful Alxxiis (whose work you should go look at!!!)! Hope you enjoy! <3

Larandel was starting to get sick of her own pacing, but her nerves were too frayed for her to stop, so she continued attempting to wear a hole in the rug of their safe house. 

“Stop it,” Naryu said finally. “You’re just agitating yourself further.” 

She was right, of course, but- “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” Her voice shook as she spoke, and though she was certain Naryu noticed, she let it pass unmentioned. “I don’t want to wait any longer.” 

Naryu sighed melodramatically before standing and putting her hands on Larandel’s shoulders, forcing her to stand still for a moment. “You know we can’t rush this. We have to wait for nightfall, else we’ll be spotted.” 

Larandel shrugged off her hands and held them in her own instead. “I know,” she murmured. 

Naryu’s gaze softened. “Are you certain that you’re okay with this? She is your mother, after all.” 

Larandel’s voice was steel. “Oh, I’m quite certain. This has gone on for long enough, and I don’t intend for it to go any farther. I’m only sorry that I didn’t get the chance to slit her throat sooner. She’s deserved it for years.” A fire burned in her eyes that had been stoked for years by her mother’s cruelties. The order for her death that many of the elders had thought of as a test of loyalty was something she’d wanted as long as she could remember. 

Naryu allowed herself a soft smile at her partner’s resolution. “Well, a few hours longer won’t kill you. At least, I don’t intend to allow that to happen,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood at least a little bit. It worked, and Larandel’s face relaxed just a tad. 

“Well, thank goodness for that. For a moment I was concerned you’d become so fed up with my pacing you intended to cut my throat yourself to put an end to it,” she sniped back, but there was no malice in her words. But even as she began to calm down, her fist clenched around the writ bearing the name of Revelna Dres. “You know,” she said quietly as Naryu guided her to the bench on the wall of the room before sitting down beside her, “I spent so long running away from her, terrified that anyone who knew of our connection would judge me for it, but…” She shook her head sadly as she trailed off. “I’m tired of running away. She doesn’t control me anymore, and I can’t let her continue to hurt other people.” 

Though perhaps there was some benefit to her mother’s unbounded cruelty, as wrong as it felt to reap reward from others’ suffering - if she hadn’t continued to trade Argonian and Nord slaves after the formation of the Pact, there would have been a steep punishment for anyone who dared to harm her. As it was, her death was sanctioned, and her killers would not be sought. 

Larandel just had to keep herself from barging straight in, for her mother’s guards would most likely kill her on sight, and then her crimes would go unpunished. She sighed as Naryu started to rub soothing patterns into her shoulders. All that they could do for now was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <s>what is an ending, even</s>  
thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed! i'm still open for prompts if there's something you're interested in reading! <3


	7. Is There a Reason You're Blushing Like That?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aralyn is no longer allowed to get sick, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt fill from the absolutely fantastic Searofyr, whose (at risk of repeating myself) work you should definitely go read! Hope you enjoy the chapter!

Lucien only spared half a moment to make sure no one was watching before he slipped into the well and the sanctuary below. Not that stealth was overly important in this city, of all places - the Count’s silence had been carefully assured - but it was still better not to advertise their presence. But Aralyn was not waiting in the training hall as she was supposed to be, even after he checked all the corners and inside most of the barrels to make sure she wasn’t hiding as she had taken to doing. Her stealth was improving more quickly than any of her other skills, but her attempts to trick him were becoming exasperating. 

After a few moments of impatient waiting, he stepped out into the main hall to figure out where she could be and nearly ran into her instead. However, her reflexes didn’t seem to be in top form because she didn’t stop when he did, but rather smacked into his chest and then blinked down at him in confusion. She swayed unsteadily on her feet while he examined her face. “Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?” 

Before she could answer him (though that seemed to be a trying task for her at the moment), her sister burst out from the living quarters, hands on her hips and a frown on her face. “You’re supposed to be in bed, Aralyn,” she scolded before noticing him. Elanoviel bowed to him immediately. “Speaker,” she said reverently, “my apologies. Please allow me to get Aralyn back to bed so she stops bothering you.” Lucien examined her carefully for a moment. Though the Night Mother had called upon him to bring her to Cheydinhal as well, he knew her less well than her sister - in large part because she’d borne more of the necessary skills to be an adept assassin. Her deference seemed genuine enough (in stark contrast to her younger sister), which always made his life simpler. 

“Is she ill?” he started to ask, but was cut off when the sick elf in question collapsed on top of him and began to snore. “Well, I suppose that’s an answer in and of itself.” 

Elanoviel looked vaguely horrified. “Lord Speaker, I’m so sorry about this-”

He cut her off before she could continue. “It’s no matter.” He hoisted Aralyn with ease, for even though she towered over him, she was as waifish as the day he’d found her in that cave. And now that he thought of it, Lucien found it likely that her poor diet had contributed to the fever he could feel burning through her veins as he carried her into the living quarters. “Foolish child,” he murmured, but she just unconsciously burrowed further into his robes. His brows knit in frustration, but he just sighed in exasperation. Even asleep, it seemed she conspired to try his patience. 

Elanoviel followed closely on his heels, fidgeting as though she didn’t know what to do with herself. He paid her discomfort no mind - as much as he valued her obedience, it seemed both pointless and tedious to insist on strict formalities within their tiny family. “Where should I put her?” he asked, and she jumped. 

“The bed closest to the door. Thank you so much for your assistance, Speaker,” she said with another deep bow. 

Lucien sighed as he watched her. “You shouldn’t avert your eyes when you bow. You never know what might be happening while you aren’t paying attention.” When she straightened, Elanoviel found that he had shifted her younger sister (who seemed more at ease than she had any right to be) to one arm and was pointing a knife at her throat. He watched as her eyes widened and then narrowed sharply as a scowl curled her lips. Not the obsequience he had expected. Interesting. Maybe her deference wasn’t quite as genuine as he had believed, after all. 

He chuckled and sheathed the dagger as he attempted to place Aralyn on the bed. Easier said than done when she had fisted her hands into his robes, and every time he peeled her fingers free she grabbed another handful of cloth. Determined to frustrate him, indeed. After a few minutes of this fruitless endeavor, he succumbed and sat at her bedside while Elanoviel looked on, seemingly torn between shock and horror at her sister’s actions. However, she kept her mouth shut this time, seemingly sobered by his earlier demonstration with his knife. Good. Better that he kept her on her toes. 

“If you get me ill, I will kill you,” he whispered to Aralyn, and let her sister silently wonder whether or not he was serious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aralyn is an extremely clingy person, that's my only defense for using the same trope twice in as many days.   
Thank you for reading, and feel free to drop me a prompt or come say hi! :>


	8. Flirting and Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slice of life Thieves Guild, featuring flirting and flying rags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "My, my, did the sun just come out? I don't think I've ever seen you smile that bright." for Altaire for the wonderful HircinesHuntingGround whose work you should definitely read! Hope you enjoy! <3  
Serene belongs to my dear friend Shay who is not on AO3, so much thanks to her :>

Altaire listened carefully until Serene’s footsteps had faded before she turned toward Brynjolf with a knowing grin. “My, my, did the sun just come out? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile that bright.” 

He let out a long-suffering sigh, but his voice held a tinge of amusement. “You’ve never seen me at all, lass.”

“And yet I still know what expression you’re making. For a thief, you’re rather obvious. It’s kind of endearing. And rolling your eyes will have no effect on me!” She swept the tables of the Ragged Flagon with a practiced ease as she poked fun at her friend, but he got his revenge by not telling her about the chair someone had forgotten to push in. “Oh, son of a- I’m going to kill Delvin, I swear!” Altaire turned back to him. “And you, for that matter!” She flung her cleaning rag at him with the startling precision he’d come to expect of her, but there wasn’t enough force behind her throw for it to sting. 

He smiled fondly even though he knew that she couldn’t see him and placed her cloth back into her outstretched hand. She grumbled quietly, but let him pat her gently on the head. “Come now, don’t be like that. Anger doesn’t suit you.” 

Her eyebrows shot up and amusement touched her face. “What does, praytell?” It never ceased to amaze him how quickly she could change personas, and this time was no exception. She smiled coyly and trailed a single finger down the edge of his jaw, accurate as always. “This?” The word wasn’t spoken so much as breathed, but unfortunately for her he could play this flirting game just as well as she. 

Brynjolf took the hand touching his face in his own and wrapped his other arm around her waist. “I can think of only one place I’d rather see you,” he murmured lowly. 

It seemed she couldn’t keep up her façade in the face of his dramatics, and she burst out laughing just as Vekel scolded her. “I know I don’t pay you to seduce the guild members, Videre!” Brynjolf had just snorted at his remonition when the bartender turned to him. “And you ought to know better than doing that in here! It’s a bar, not a brothel for gods’ sakes.” 

Altaire smiled winningly at her grumpy boss. “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.” 

The older man heaved a long-suffering sigh as he shook his head. “‘Course it won’t,” he grumbled, but he went back to buffing the glassware and let the topic drop. 

Brynjolf tweaked her gently on the cheek. “You’re such a brat,” he said with a laugh. She shrugged unrepentantly by way of answering and swatted him in the ass with her cleaning cloth as she passed by him. 

“Takes one to know one!” 

“Can the two of you get a room, already?” Vex called from her corner, where she was tossing back a shot of something amber even though the sun was barely into the sky - though it didn’t much matter when you spent most of your time in a sewer, he supposed. “I mean, Mara’s ass, if the entire guild didn’t know you’ve been pining after Serene as long as she’s been here I’d think the two of you were half a step from falling into a closet together.” 

Bryn couldn’t help his uncomfortable flush, but Altaire cackled at her comment. “Jealous?” she asked, somehow twisting the word to sound sensual. 

Vex scoffed harshly. “In your dreams.” 

Altaire simply shrugged. “Your loss, babe.” Not that Vex’s harsh refusal would stop her from flirting again in a few hours. 

Vekel sighed again as Brynjolf chuckled at their interaction. “I think I’m getting too old for this nonsense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i honestly have no idea how to write an ending i'm so sorry  
thank you for reading!  
still open for prompts <3  
and always open to chat if you want to say hi! <3


	9. All's Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two old friends talk about their scars. Some spoilers for the Summerset questline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Ae/Darien, kissing each other's scars and saying everything will be okay" from the absolutely fantastic HircinesHuntingGround. <3 took some liberties with it, but it was too sweet as it was :p mild spoilers for Summerset as well as some mentions of the end of the Morrowind/Main/Fighters Guild questlines, so if you haven't played them but intend on doing so, please put your milk and eggs back in the fridge so shit doesn't get spoiled <3 enjoy!

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Darien said, wagging his eyebrows, and Aellai rolled her eyes in response. 

“I’m not stripping to show off my scars in some sort of sick contest to see who’s been beaten more,” she said coolly, but he was not so easily deterred as she might have liked. (It didn’t help that he seemed to have figured out that she’d give him the world if he asked, particularly now that he was back and they had some semblance of peace - Nocturnal’s impending threat notwithstanding.) 

“Don’t be so dramatic about it,” he wheedled, pulling off his undershirt as casually as he might have pulled off his breastplate. It wasn’t anything new to her - soldiers were notoriously immodest, for necessity’s sake more than anything else - but she still averted her eyes. Damn him for making her feel so unlike herself, for shattering the comfortable stoicism she wore like armor, and for looking so irritatingly proud of himself as he did so. 

Darien met her eyes with his eyebrows raised, silently daring her to back down now that he’d thrown the gauntlet. Ae felt her cheeks heat and prayed that her flush wasn’t noticeable, but didn’t look away from his gaze. He smirked, but said nothing about how embarrassed she must have appeared. Instead, he ran a finger down a thin line on his arm. “This one is from training with that bastard d’Albret when we were still squires. He always used a live sword for sparring, just to try and prove... something.” 

She clutched the lifeline he had thrown her with both hands. This was a safe topic, something she could discuss without her prudish discomfort interfering. “I remember that. Lieutenant Vienne would get so angry with him, but he didn’t stop until she had his blade checked before every bout.” 

Darien grinned, and her face lightened in response. “And even then, he kept trying to sneak it past her. Never figured out that she was far smarter than he - but he always was a bit dull.” 

Aellai let a hint of her wry amusement show on her face. “It only hastened his expulsion.” 

Darien looked at her expectantly then, now that they had finished reminiscing, and she sighed and gave in. She ran the thumb of her right hand over the second and third knuckles of her left. “I punched a rock as a child hard enough to shatter some of the bones in my hand, convinced I could break it. My father was not pleased.” 

Darien practically crowed with laughter, and was still chuckling a few minutes later when she shoved him lightly. “I can’t believe you of all people made that mistake.” She shoved him again, harder this time but still good-naturedly, and he laughed only for a moment more before pointing almost accurately at a jagged, ropy scar that zig-zagged across his spine. “Werewolves in Camlorn.” 

Aellai hissed in sympathy and then traced a mark that looped around her shoulder. “Vaermina’s minions in Stormhaven.” 

A gash along his ribs. “Daedric anchor with the Fighters Guild.” 

Scattered marks along her thighs. “Barbas in the Clockwork City.” 

Razor-thin scratches down his chest. “A series of bar brawls.”

A thin line across her cheek. “A former friend of mine in Vvardenfell.” 

A pale white wound that trailed his clavicle. “A former friend of mine in Coldharbour.” 

Aellai bit her lip for a moment in hesitation before steeling herself and removing her undershirt, leaving herself exposed save for her bindings. It was hard to bring herself to meet his eyes - not because she was modest, modesty was something she’d long since disposed of, if only for its uselessness - but because she didn’t want to see pity there. His question about the lashes that lined her arms and legs had been the reason they’d started this inane game to begin with, but they were much more concentrated on her torso and back. She ran her thumb over one of the two marks under her ribs instead. “Imperials in Bangkorai.” 

He laughed at her comment, but the sound was more surprised than amused. Not that that was a surprise - looking at the reminder of when she’d been stabbed to protect him probably wasn’t easy. Thankfully, the look he gave her wasn’t pity or regret, but understanding. Darien traced the rough oval on his abdomen that appeared to be still healing. (She could admit to having been curious about its origins, but to ask him while expecting him to respect her privacy would have been untenable.) “Got on the wrong side of an Auroran. They’re not a particularly friendly bunch, as it turns out.” 

There was still a lot about his time in the Colored Rooms that she didn’t know, it seemed. And as painful as it was to do so (she’d been so careful about hiding the scars), Aellai wanted to bare her secrets in the same way, to give herself some sort of relief from the loneliness of knowing in solitude. “This one is from Mannimarco,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, as she pointed out the knife wound that had killed her. “The lashes are from my time in Coldharbour, and the slave masters there.” Unfriendly daedra with permission to maim you at will were something they had in common, apparently. “And these ones…” Aellai trailed off at the sight of the five puncture wounds in her gut. She swallowed heavily. “These ones are from Molag Bal.” Very little could compare to the helplessness of being held in the air by a cruel god while his claws dug into her, but the Amulet’s magic had pulled through in the end. 

Darien’s eyes were soft when she met them again, but she was once more surprised that they bore none of the pity she had expected. “You survived,” he said instead, smiling, and took her hand in his to press a kiss so faint she thought she might have imagined it to the scar on her knuckles. “And we’ll keep surviving,” he promised, and for an instant everything was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the implication with Darien's "former friend in Coldharbour" is supposed to be that he did the FG main quest and got it from Aelif, but I don't know if that was clear, whoop. also i don't know how to write so bigger whoop.)   
thank you very much for reading! <3


	10. I Can't Do This Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just have to make a bad bargain with a daedric prince that hates you. Major Summerset spoilers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still upset about the ending of Summerset and will be forever, so I'm writing about it in the hopes that ZOS will take pity on me and fix what they did. For the prompt "I can't do this again!" from the absolutely fantastic Searofyr! <3 same spiel about milk and eggs and spoilers as last chapter if you haven't played Summerset to completion, and as always, i hope you enjoy!

When everything was over, and the blood cooled in her veins and her adrenaline rush faded, Aellai found herself still restless. Raewyn bore nothing but deep concern, of course, but her attempts at comfort went unheeded. How could she accept comfort at a time like this, when everything had broken apart and she had fallen short yet again? 

They were sitting in silence again, Rae having realized that her words were going entirely unheard, when Aellai spoke for the first time since they’d reclaimed Crystal-Like-Law. “I can’t do this again,” she whispered, and then they fell back into a painful quiet once again. 

She went back to the shrine of Meridia north of Shimmerene after that. She wasn’t quite sure why - she had nothing that could threaten a Daedric prince, nothing left to bargain with.

But she had to try.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon, child,” said the lady as soon as Ae walked into the temple. “I’m afraid I have nothing more for you.”

She would not be deterred so easily. “Don’t patronize me. You know why I’m here.” And if not, more the fool she. (She’d defeated two different Daedric princes in combat now, what was a third?)

She could almost feel the condescending smile on Meridia’s face, and thought again about the book she had found (been sent?). If Darien was gone- no, she wouldn’t give up yet. “He’s gone, child. Didn’t he tell you in that book you have?”

Aellai instinctively pressed a protective hand to where she’d stowed the book in her cuirass. (It shouldn’t have fit, but the book was small and it seemed she had lost some weight since arriving on Summerset. She’d need to get her armor refitted at some point, but that was a worry for another day.) “You lied to him. You promised him freedom. But you knew, didn’t you? Even after he did everything in your name.”

Meridia sniffed disdainfully. “You know nothing about my methods or my reasons. Besides, I only suspected that Dawnbreaker would be needed to repair Transparent Law. And how could I have known Nocturnal would have corrupted the blade?”

Aellai gritted her teeth. “I helped you defeat Molag Bal. I know you’re the one who sent me to die in the first place. And not only do you owe me, but you made a promise. Give him back. Let him live on, and I will consider your debt paid. I will never again mention that you killed my squadron and forced me into this fate.” She swallowed hard, eyes focused on the unwavering statue before her. “And if you should ever need a champion again, I will come to your call one last time.”

A mistake, most likely, to offer something like that to a Daedra, but it didn’t matter. Not when Darien’s life - his entire existence - was on the line. Besides, could it possibly be worse than whatever debt she still owed Clavicus Vile?

There were several moments of tense silence, and for a second she thought Meridia had left.

“I’ll take that bargain, Vestige.” Her use of the moniker stilled Aellai’s blood almost as much as the acceptance of her terms. It was too easy. “I’ll give him to you.”

There was another pause, and then Dawnbreaker appeared in front of her, as radiant as it had been when she used it to strike down Nocturnal not a day ago.

“What is the meaning of this?” Meridia’s... joke? was clear - Darien’s essence was still in the blade. But that wasn’t what she had asked for.

“You wanted him, and now you have him.” (“I asked for his life!” she protested, but Meridia continued, unperturbed.) “I’m sure you can figure out how to free him from there if you’re clever enough. Or perhaps, after a sufficiently large favor, I’ll do it for you. Now, keep my relic safe, would you?”

“Wait! He’s... he’s still himself in there? He isn’t gone?” Her voice was inflected with a desperation she’d never heard from herself before. But she hadn’t truly thought she’d be able to save him, not after she found the book. But now, if he hadn’t faded- maybe there was a chance.

“It is as I said. If you separate him from the sword, he will be as he was.” The Daedra paused to let the weight of her words sink in, and Aellai had to fight not to fall to her knees. “I will summon you again when I need you.” It was a threat, she was sure of it, but it didn’t matter. Not when she had a chance to save Darien and repay him for all he had done for her.

And then Meridia was gone. Nothing in the temple had changed, but the oppressive pressure in the air had disappeared. Dawnbreaker still hung in front of her, gleaming, but her hands shook as she grasped the hilt of the blade.

For a supposedly benevolent Daedric prince, Meridia was too clever by half. Not only had she succeeded in not giving her what she wanted, the presence of Dawnbreaker at her hip (for she must have known Aellai would not let it leave her side) would declare to all that she was a follower of the Lady.

Whether that would serve more to make people wary of her or encourage them that Meridia was trustworthy remained to be seen, but neither choice was particularly pleasant to think about.  
It was no matter now, though. She had to ask the Psijic Order for one more favor. And then, figure out how to defeat a third Daedric prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aellai please act like a rational person challenge  
thank you for reading!!! <3 still taking prompts :3c


	11. When You Wish Upon a Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes wishes don't turn out the way you want them to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "a time they wished upon a falling star" from the incredible HircinesHuntingGround <3 (whose work you should go read if you haven't already ;D)   
tw for fire   
hope you enjoy!!!

Eira was a child the first time that she wished upon a star. She’d been a mere eight years of age when one of her older brothers had grabbed her and her younger sister’s hands and dragged them outside to look at the star shower that was going on. 

At that moment, surrounded by her family, she wished that she could be that happy forever. And it was a short few weeks later that she learned stars weren’t the most reliable things. 

“I need enough kindling for the next three nights,” her mother said, crouching down so that they were about the same height. “Can you please get that for me, Eira?” 

“Of course!” Eira was thrilled. She’d recently become old enough to go into the woods on her own (if she carried an axe, of course - the fauna of Skyrim weren’t known for their friendliness) and each time one of her parents asked her for help, she glowed with pride. It was way more fun than helping to stoke the fire or chop vegetables, too. 

Speaking of - she stuck her tongue out at Keth on her way to the barn, correctly guessing he’d be upset that she’d been the one chosen to go outside. “Ma,” she heard him whining as she bundled up and left, but the sound was drowned out by the howling wind as soon as she shut the door behind herself. 

The Eira-sized axe her father had made for her last birthday was in its usual spot by the door of the barn, and the basket for kindling was right below it. The axe fit perfectly in her palm and just as well in the loop on her belt, and the handle of the basket was smooth from years of use. 

“I’ll be back in a bit, pa!” She called to her father where he was chopping logs with Droki, and he smiled warmly back at her. 

“Be safe, pup!” Eira pointed to the axe on her belt and her father nodded approvingly. With a final wave goodbye to her father and brother, she bounded into the woods. 

Though she sometimes secretly thought that the woods were creepy at night, with all their bare branches creaking and making eerie shadows in the snow, they were quite pleasant while the sun was still up. Judging by the position of the sun, she had about two hours before darkness fell and the woods regained its harshness, but that was plenty of time to gather the sticks that her mother wanted. 

Slowly, she wandered out of sight of the family farm, picking up branch after branch and occasionally stopping to make a snow angel or watch a rabbit scamper through the trees. Though she could hear wolves howling in the distance, none of them approached her and her axe remained untouched in her belt. 

Finally, just as the light began to disappear and the cries of the wolves grew louder and closer, Eira determined she had more than enough kindling to last for the next three days and began tracing her steps back home. She looked forward to her mother’s praise for having found so much wood, and even more so to the jealousy she was certain would be on Keth’s face. 

Eira stopped short in the forest when she began to see light coming from the direction of the farmhouse. It was too bright for a bonfire, unless her parents had put it much closer to the trees than normal. An uneasy feeling she couldn’t explain settled in her gut, and she drew the axe at her waist and approached slowly. 

The snow muffled any noise she might have made, but the roaring fire that consumed her home and much of her family’s fields rendered it redundant. The air was filled with smoke and the sounds of creaking timbers, but she couldn’t see any signs of life or figure out where her family had gone. 

Terrified, she gave up on stealth entirely and ran as close to the house as she dared. “Ma! Pa!” Only the flames answered her. “Droki! Gunjer! Erika!” Eira searched fruitlessly for any signs of her family. “Keth! Erin!” The snow had been cleared around their farm to make moving around easier, but it also meant she couldn’t see any footprints her family might have left behind. 

Eira sank to the ground and watched her home burn, tears rolling down her face both from the sting of the smoke and despair. Surely they wouldn’t have left without her if they’d made it out of the fire… right?

Eventually the flames began to run out of fuel to burn, and Eira sat and watched for hours as the only place she’d ever felt happy crumbled to cinders as her tears dried on her face. No one, if they were alive, returned for her. She slowly began to realize she couldn’t stay there forever, but it was dark and cold and she didn’t know where else to go. 

She stumbled away from the ruins of her happiness as tears she thought she’d run out of welled up in her eyes again. She didn’t know where she would go now, but that was the last time she’d trust a star to help her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i like eira's family!  
also me: i'm going to murder them  
sorry not sorry orz  
thank you so much for reading!!! <3  
also some thoughts on eira as a character and this piece cause i'm thinking thoughts rn: her entire concept was based on the idea of a very pure, genuine heroine, and i wanted to make a background for that character. originally she was going to be spoiled sweet, but i decided i actually preferred her to be aggressively kind because she's seen the worst the world has to offer and doesn't want to watch anyone else suffer. i left what happened somewhat ambiguous because she never really gets any closure about her family and i didn't want the reader to get any, either. also i'm evil so there's that. :3c thank you again for reading and i hope you enjoyed!


	12. You Always Know What to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Purification feelings jam, with all of the Oblivion spoilers that entails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "You always know what to say" from the absolutely wonderful Alxxiis <3   
Oblivion DB questline spoilers, and i hope you enjoy <3

Aralyn woke the morning after she finished the Purification with crystal clear memories of murdering her siblings, very fuzzy bits and pieces of what came after, and a raging headache. She recognized Lucien’s cavern immediately (it was the cleanest abandoned crypt beneath a fort she’d ever seen, that much was certain) but had no idea how she’d ended up there. All she was really sure of at present was that she regretted waking up. 

She groaned pathetically and rolled over to face the wall and attempt to go back to sleep (at least it was dark in here), but Lucien was pulling her out of the cot before she could process that it was happening. “It’s after noon. I’ve been more than generous in allowing you to sleep in my home, but this is quite enough.”

Aralyn scowled in response and tried not to open her eyes too wide. The candle on his desk was agitating her headache, and Lucien’s jostling certainly hadn’t helped any. “After what I’ve spent the last two weeks doing, I think you owe me as many nights on that cot as I want.” That was what came next, right? He couldn’t possibly ask her to return to the sanctuary, not after what had happened there, and it was just the two of them now, so presumably he’d want her to stay here with him. He wouldn’t leave her all alone, not after what had happened. 

Aralyn choked down the urge to heave at the thought of what she’d done. Eight of the only nine people she’d ever cared about, murdered by her own hand. And how trusting they’d all been! Completely unsuspicious of her up to the point where she’d slit their throats. It was a good thing Elanoviel had showed her how to make the sleeping droughts she’d needed when she first went to stay at the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, for it seemed unlikely that she’d sleep through the night otherwise, at least not for the foreseeable future. She’d need to restock her alchemy ingredients though - her cache had been left behind in the sanctuary, and there was no way she was going back there of her own volition. (Sithis, how long would their bodies rot there? Aralyn pushed that thought aside as soon as it came.) 

Lucien drew her from her downwardly spiraling thoughts with a pointed cough. He gestured (probably not for the first time) at the seat he’d pulled out for her, and slipped into the chair next to it as she practically collapsed on top of hers without him to help her remain upright. “So the deed is done. I commend you.” Her frown and dramatically raised eyebrows made it very clear what she thought of that sentence. “And I believe congratulations are in order, as well.” 

Aralyn knew that this was part of the role he had to play - to commiserate with her would be to draw suspicion to himself, and if her attitude toward this whole thing was ever discovered by someone from another sanctuary, he’d probably be suspected anyway - but she couldn’t help the retort that rose to her lips. “Oh, Lucien, you always know just what to say.” The words went past a quip into the territory of biting and cold, but she didn’t have the energy to mind. 

He sighed, but it sounded almost sad rather than exasperated as she had expected. “I do think sarcasm is the worst habit you’ve picked up since coming to stay in Cheydinhal.” Again, his tone was less reprimanding than she thought he would be, and she’d come to know him well enough to realize he was expressing sympathy in the only way he knew how. And it showed how well he knew her in return that she felt comfortable enough to snipe at him like this. Even among the rest of her family in the sanctuary, she’d been quiet and nervous, but things were... easier with Lucien, somehow. 

She supposed that comfort was, at least in part, due to him having seen her in a much more vulnerable position than anyone else ever had. But now wasn’t the time to have her mind wandering to such inane things. “So,” she asked warily, “why congratulations?” Aralyn believed herself wiser to reality, now, and knew better than to think she was getting anything good. No, anytime something positive seemed to happen, it was probably a trick of some cruel deity, so she would remain suspicious, even of Lucien’s good news. (And she was right to be.) 

“You’ve been promoted to Silencer, with all the benefits that entails.” He must have noticed the blank stare on her face, because he elaborated. “You will be my personal executioner, answerable to me and me alone, and a member of the Black Hand. Your contracts will be more challenging, but you will be well rewarded.” Aralyn waited for the hammer to fall, for surely that seemed too good to be true, that even if she had lost the rest of her family, she would at least be at Lucien’s side for the time being. 

“I presume I’ll be staying at the Cheydinhal Sanctuary?” Aralyn asked, trying to sound disaffected. There was a small, vulnerable part of her that wanted to ask him if she could stay here and remain at his side, far away from the ghosts that surely roamed the sanctuary now. But though she might have been more comfortable around him than most, she was a far cry from showing him that side of herself. 

She buried it instead. 

Lucien blinked. “I sometimes forget how new you are to this. No, you will not be staying anywhere specific. Silencers are unique members of our family, attached to a Speaker rather than a sanctuary. I will give you orders with the necessary information for you to complete your contract and the location of your next orders and your payment. You will be traveling alone, most of the time.” 

Truly this had to be a joke, some sort of cruel mockery perpetuated upon her by that vindictive god. Condemned to be alone again? There was nothing worse that could have been done to her. It was a vicious struggle to keep her terror from running rampant on her face, and she wasn’t entirely sure that she succeeded, but she nodded casually as if her entire world hadn’t just crumbled underneath her. The movement made her head spin, and maybe that was what made it seem like there was some sort of sorrow in Lucien’s eyes. 

“You won’t start immediately, of course,” he continued, and Aralyn felt her heart leap in her chest. “There are a few more things you must know before you’re ready to begin - your reading, most importantly, requires improvement - so you will be staying here for some time, and when I feel you are ready you will receive your first contract.” She clung to his words like a lifeline. She would still be sent off on her own, but not now. 

And she’d never admit to it, but quietly she thought how lucky it was that she didn’t have to bare her most vulnerable thoughts, because he understood regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <s>no i don't know how to write</s>  
thank you for reading <3


	13. Sorry, I Got Lost in Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two thieves talk about colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Sorry, I got lost in your eyes" from the absolutely phenomenal HircinesHuntingGround <3 Inspired by something I read about describing colors using emotions and feelings :> hope you enjoy!

There was a small shop on the bottom level of Riften, far enough from the entrance to the Ratway as to not be too suspicious, called the Fox’s Finds. The proprietor was a quick-witted Dunmer who sold all manner of odds and ends and didn’t ask many questions, and so tended to be well-liked with the city’s populace. And occasionally she had a red-headed Imperial assistant who, while also relatively well-liked, was considered by some to be overly friendly. 

One of those who often found her a little too close for comfort was said proprietor, and now was one of those times. “Have you listened to a word I’ve said?” Zanthe asked, exasperated. She was now thoroughly convinced that the only reason Vekel sent her up to the shop to lend a hand was not because the Flagon was empty as he claimed, but rather to get Altaire out of his hair. 

The woman in question smiled winningly back. “I’m sorry, what? I keep getting lost in your eyes.” There was not a hint of shame on her face, and she continued to sweep the floor as if she hadn’t been humming bawdy tavern songs not-quite-under her breath a moment ago, causing this spat in the first place. 

Zanthe snorted derisively, but it was hardly as biting as she usually was. (An observer who knew her particularly well might have even realized she was fond of Altaire, but a smart one would never mention that. Anyone who might have been able to get away with saying so was long dead.) “We both know you wouldn’t even tell me what color they are.” 

Altaire pouted. “There’s no need to be mean,” she whined, but there was no real offence in her tone. She had been blind for her whole life and was more than used to it - certainly cracked enough jokes about it herself to make people think none of it bothered her - but missing out on these colors that no one could seem to shut up about was the one thing that nagged at the back of her mind. 

The rest of it she had no issues with - preferred it, even (someone’s appearance had never deceived her or stopped her from having her fun, after all). She’d run her fingers over the faces of enough (semi-)willing participants and various surfaces to get an idea of what they were like, but being able to see their tiny details always seemed… superfluous, almost. Who needed that when their other senses could do the same, if they simply knew how to use them? But colors… colors were something she would never be able to fully understand. 

Altaire had never said as much to anyone, of course, not after she’d told her parents when she was five and they’d proceeded to spend the next three years telling every single mage they dragged her to in hopes that one of them would be able to “fix” her (shocker - they couldn’t). Her sister had taken advantage of her desire and tormented her with it at every available opportunity, and so she’d learned young to keep any such thoughts to herself. 

But some thieves (or former thieves, in this case) were more perceptive than her smothering parents or spiteful sister, and could understand without her spelling things out for them. “Red is, at its worst, the color of anger, but it’s also passion and turbulent romance.” Altaire was sure there was surprise written all over her face, but it didn’t stop Zanthe from continuing. 

“Orange is sitting in front of a fireplace in the wintertime, and yellow is joy and the sun on your face in the spring. Some people would tell you that black is emptiness, but that’s not true - black is the feeling of hiding, and hatred that eats away at you over your lifetime. White is emptiness, the complete lack of anything at all. 

“Green is envy, the kind of jealousy that gnaws at your bones, but it can also be growth and rebirth. Blue is calm and peaceful, like dipping your fingers into a cool stream. Brown is the feeling of dirt between your toes, and grey is like choking on smoke or ash.” Zanthe stopped then, and for a moment the room was completely silent, and every creak of the wooden docks could be heard from inside the shop. 

“Thank you,” Altaire said finally, quietly, and whatever spell had been over them for the moment was broken, gone as quickly as it had come. 

Zanthe scoffed and turned back to the counter, counting coins with a renewed vigor. “I didn’t do anything.” Whatever part of her old, happy self that had taken over her for a moment was gone again, buried beneath years of betrayals and hardships. 

“No,” Altaire agreed, “but you cared enough to try.” This time, when she started singing off-key bar songs again, Zanthe didn’t stop her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you for reading and feel free to drop a prompt! <3


	14. I Can't Help You if You Don't Let Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aellai runs away from her problems. Her friends push her toward them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every time i write this girl i realize how awkward she is and i cry a little  
for the prompt "I can't help you if you don't let me!" from my dear, wonderful friend HircinesHuntingGround, who deserves all of your love <3

Darien prodded the dying fire with a stick. He’d offered to take the first watch, but no one else seemed even remotely inclined to sleep. Raewyn and Ae had gone into the woods to look for more firewood, though he’d have expected them back by now. But it was hard to say - as soon as they’d made camp en route to Cath Bedraud, Ae had started acting weird. She’d been quiet and standoffish as long as he’d known her (which was a long time, now), but not usually modest or awkward, at least not with him - though maybe that had changed since he’d last seen her. Their postings were quite different, so it wasn’t unusual for several months to go pass without them coming in contact. 

Though while a lot of the Lion Guard they’d both known throughout the years found her to be closed off and cold, he’d never known her to be secretive like this. He had his suspicions that it related to the rumors that her squadron had disappeared a few months ago and were presumed dead, but when he’d asked her about them she’d skillfully avoided the question and distracted him with some concerns about setting up camp. 

He perked up a bit when he began to hear voices, but he couldn’t see anyone approaching or make out footsteps. The voices came into clarity startlingly quickly, but he settled back down when he recognized them as his two traveling companions. 

“-are you going to talk about it?” Raewyn was asking, and though it felt rude to eavesdrop, the words were too loud for him to ignore (weird, but he paid little attention to it). 

Ae’s response was terse. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

Darien didn’t need to see them to know Raewyn was rolling her eyes. “I don’t know what happened while you were missing, but if you won’t talk to me about it, you should talk to Darien. You’ve been friends as long as I’ve known you, and you need to get whatever it is that happened off of your chest.” Missing? He knew that her squad had disappeared, but he assumed that if Ae was still around, she’d been accounted for the whole time. 

“What happened is no one else’s responsibility. I can handle it myself.” Well, some things never changed, he supposed; Ae would be stubbornly self-reliant if it killed her (he’d cringe at that comment later). 

Raewyn seemed undeterred. “And I don’t know what happened in that castle, but-“

Ae’s voice was all sharp edges now. “You don’t need to worry about it. It won’t happen again.” That, at least, Darien could posit a guess about - the emotions that drove her magic had taken over during that fight, and not in a good way, but he hadn’t seen her frayed to that point… well, ever. Even when they’d first met as kids she’d had a tight leash on her emotions to prevent that sort of thing (only so many times you can set a table on fire before it gets old, she’d told him). 

Rae clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Fine. Well, if you won’t answer my questions, I’ll get Darien to ask.” 

“There’s no need.” 

This time, Raewyn’s voice was smug. “It’s already done,” she said as the two of them stepped into the clearing, laden with firewood, and Darien understood. Whatever amplification spell she’d cast was to ensure that he overheard their conversation, in the hopes that at least one of them could figure out what was wrong with their mutual friend. 

Ae understood a moment later, but as she opened her mouth to repeat her bit about not needing help for the umpteenth time, Raewyn cut her off. “I’m going to bathe in the river. You can yell at me later.” She turned on her heel and left before anyone could argue with her. 

Aellai just sighed, all of the fight seeming to drain out of her at once. “She’s infuriatingly good at winning arguments.” She didn’t so much as sit next to him as collapse on the log they’d pushed in front of the fire. 

They sat in silence for a few moments while she stared into the remnants of their fire and he watched her, trying to discern her thoughts (not that it got him very far). Eventually the silence became too heavy, and he stood to give her some space. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me,” he said quietly, sadly, but she laid a hand on his arm before he could leave. 

“The two of you make quite the formidable team,” she said, and he was pleased to note that her voice wasn’t quite as cold as it had been. “If you really want to know what happened, I’ll tell you, if only because you knew them, too.” Well, it seemed like whatever story she had wasn’t a particularly happy one, but anyone who was only a friend in happy times wasn’t much of one at all. And he wasn’t exactly a stranger to hardship, himself. He sat and waited patiently for her to continue, and after a few long moments, Ae sighed once more and began. “It all started when I met this strange woman…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! <3


	15. Lustrant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eventually one's luck runs out, and someone's left to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This combines two prompts from the fantastic Searofyr! "Stop being so cute, it's not fair!" and "You know I can't feel that way." for a bad end universe where Aellai defies Meridia and ends up as one of the Purified. :>   
<s>no i don't proofread my work</s>  
hope you enjoy!!! <3

The bargain had been a terrible mistake. Aellai had known that when she made it, of course - nothing about making a deal with a Prince that seemed to detest you could be considered smart - but it had been so necessary at the time, and she hadn’t realized it would go this wrong. 

She had planned for weeks with those she trusted most to devise a way to sap Meridia’s power and free Darien from her grasp, but they hadn’t even been close to putting it in action. The first moment that she’d made a move against her, Meridia’s light had burned her from the inside out, leaving behind more of a husk than a human being. (Funnily enough, the “Vestige” moniker she’d always hated was accurate once again, perhaps even more so than it had been initially.)

On the bright side, although one could argue that every side was technically a bright side when dealing with Meridia, the Lady had pulled Darien from the void she’d cast him into in the first place so that he might watch what happened to those who disobey. “I think this lesson will stick with him much better than a few hundred years of being insubstantial, don’t you?” she’d asked. He existed again, though, so she had succeeded to some degree - even if her current… limitations made that difficult to appreciate or enjoy. 

Aellai was somewhat surprised to realize how mundane her newfound existence was. She simply waited in the Colored Rooms for Meridia’s orders, immune to the passing of time, though for now it seemed the Prince was content to keep her as more of a trophy than anything else. Darien came to see her often, and though she knew logically why there was hurt in his expression every time he looked at her, she couldn’t find it within herself to feel anything other than a mild disinterest at his pain. 

Her disaffection didn’t stop him from trying to bring her back to a time when she felt something other than a yen to serve Meridia. “The Daggerfall Covenant is being crushed,” he said to her one day, a seemingly legitimate frustration in his voice. “Emeric may fall, and our fathers alongside him.” She was mildly surprised at the rawness in his tone, but then supposed she shouldn’t have been - before all of this, she would have been similarly angered. 

He looked at her as if searching for something, but Aellai knew her eyes remained blank. 

A few days later, he tried something completely different. They were sitting in silence, as they did most days when he didn’t seem to know what to say to her, when he glanced over at her and smiled gently. “You need to stop being so cute, it’s not fair,” he said, patting her gently on the head.   
The silence grew oppressive as she looked back at him, eyebrows pinching together, and eventually he looked away, but not before she caught the beginnings of despair in his eyes. 

The weeks passed slowly (though maybe that was because it was difficult to tell the time here), and though Aellai wasn’t sure exactly what had brought it on, she knew Darien was drunk when he came to see her one day, if only from the stench. His words were slurred and his eyes were glassy, but he was (un?)thankfully clear enough to understand. “I never said it,” he whispered as he sprawled messily on the floor of the chamber Meridia had sent her to what seemed like years ago. “I never said how I feel. I never told you I-“ 

She cut him off harshly. “You know I can’t feel that way.” Aellai turned away from him until his breathing evened out and he finally slept. He didn’t meet her eyes when he woke, and they never spoke of the incident - or his feelings - again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't realize how short this was until i put it in the box whoops
> 
> anyway thank you very much as always for reading and please feel free to come chat with me on tumblr @ongoingaccident! :>


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